


someone warm them from below 'til the rain comes

by daniethegirl



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, born out trashing on twitter, garden analogy bc we can
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-04 00:00:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4119324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daniethegirl/pseuds/daniethegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The rows of Root's earth remained brittle even after she found Shaw.</p>
            </blockquote>





	someone warm them from below 'til the rain comes

**Author's Note:**

> My first Shoot fic, pls be kind. 
> 
> Title from the 'Garden Song' by Peter, Paul, and Mary bc OFC.
> 
> All mistakes are mine.

The rows of your earth remained brittle even after you found Shaw.

 

You watch her, looking for seeds of change that may have been planted by Samaritan but finds none. After all the wounds healed, bruises faded, and the therapy - that she only attended because of Harold's insistence -, ended, nothing seems to have shifted. She's the same Sameen; crass, angry, and hungry for everything but you.

 

When they tell her that you tried to drag down the heavens and burn lands just to see her again she merely nodded and moved on.

 

You dare not ask her about the kiss or you tried not to ask her about the kiss. "It was a means to an end, Root." She's not quite looking at you in the eye, but it doesn't feel like she's lying either. "The end being; all of you got out alive. We’re a team." Then she's gone to play fetch with Bear like she haven't just carelessly pulled your heart out of your chest like a child left to their own devices in a cabbage(lettuce?) patch. All heads spoiled and crushed by tiny hands.

 

If you were someone else, you’d probably cry.  You were not one for shedding tears.  The closest thing you had to crying was when the Machine made the deal with Samaritan, her life for Harold’s and yours.  Moisture gathered slowly on your lower lid, no matter what you did to stop it.  It's time to run.

 

The secluded corner just before the subway entrance found you rapidly breathing in and out.  Oxygen in. Carbon dioxide out.  Sometimes you wish you can do the opposite, like plants, be useful for once.  You deliberately stepped on a growth, snaking out of a crack on the sidewalk, as you walked away.

 

You go on with your Machine ordered missions because that's what you do. You are not the type to push, especially now that situations are back to normal. The brand of normal that your type of people have, anyway. You are more or less safe. As safe as a group of people dodging bullets nearly everyday could be.

 

Sometimes, you don’t want to go but you have places to be, people to kill.  It's at the least, a purpose. What Harold doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

 

China, South Africa, Germany, New Zealand, etc.  You and Her play your little games while on the move.  People became as interesting as the landscape, as interesting as the circuitry you are currently tinkering with.  It’s a bomb.  No big deal.  You’re going to live, She says the possibility of the bomb exploding is 0.2%, unless your hand slips.  You snort at the unintended joke as you carefully cut the last connecting wire.    

 

A mission leads you to Iran and, naturally, you fuck everything that moves in the lulls between protecting a certain diplomat.  Their dark eyes burn yours hotly as they all chant your temporary names, but you don’t want hot. You want the varying coldness of Sameen’s gaze.  Sometimes, you cover their faces with a kilim pillow or whichever comes handy.  You don’t need to see their faces.  The move made most of them mad.  One even accused you of having a date fetish after repeatedly covering her face with a pillow with the palm design. You chuckled at that, and said yes.  It’s easier than telling her that you don’t want to see her face because it almost looked exactly like that of the one you've left behind.

 

Eventually, you find that you no longer feel the need to eat pancakes every time you are at a place that serves them.  You look at your scalding hot latte and toast breakfast and smile.

 

The thing about Shaw is she might not be hungry for your love, but she's surely thirsty for you. She tells you so as you're coming down from one of the many orgasm she's given you the very night you came back to New York. What a timing. Just when you can’t form coherent thoughts, let alone words to ask her further questions, she kisses your sweat damp shoulder and tells you she likes having you around and that you may stay for as long as you want, but she has to go because a new number came up. It's fired rapidly, like she needed to get the words out of her mouth all at once. It's barely an inch of water to wet your dry lands, but you'll take it.  You’ll take it because coming from Shaw they might as well be opened floodgates.

 

All the time away and the effort spent getting over the little firecracker eventually didn’t matter.  All it took was a tilt of her head to the exit and you're ready to follow her anywhere.  It’s happening again and you’re just powerless.  

 

You beg Her for missions abroad, but she’s silent in your ear.  The last communication between you involved a first class ticket back to New York. Moisture gathered slowly on your lower lids, no matter what you did to stop it. It's time to run.

 

John never says much when you follow him while he is taking care of numbers.  He simply accepts when you show up and leaves you alone half the time. He's much like Shaw that way. The only difference is, he washes his face with his hands when he fails to save a number and his heart visibly breaks each time.  You ask him out for drinks and he tells you that there's a bottle of champagne with your name back at the hq. Shaw refused to open that bottle for all the months you were gone, he says. You look at him with unkind eyes and leaves.

 

This is basically the outcome you’ve been waiting for the whole while you were playing your little games, that were not truly games, with Sameen.  After all the tending and prodding, it seems like you got through to her. Caring grew. You're little Samantha once again in her tiny backyard in Bishop staring at the apple seedlings that sprouted from impossible soil.  Disgruntled, she covered them with more soil and stomped on them because, like you, little Samantha had no idea what to do. One of them survived, but you've chainsawed that bitch before you left.

 

Sameen corners you one night while you're attempting to break into a number's penthouse. She asks you if you've been sleeping because, apparently, you look like crap. Giving her a tight smile, you try to distract her by handing her the lock pick. She makes quick work of it, eyes never losing contact with yours. You feel your cheeks burn because, damn, the woman is skillful and hot.

 

Lionel appears behind you and tells you that you look like crap in a more colorful way.

 

"Go back to the subway, Root, or go hack a hotel. You look like you need a shut eye. We got this." Sameen's gruff voice makes you pout. She presses something inside the soft curve of your palm before disappearing inside after Lionel. It's a key. You have another just like it that you use when you used to break into her apartment. Something starts to blossom inside your chest and it's toying with your brain. If this is finally someday, you're not sure you want it at all.

 

You go neither to the subway nor a hotel. Instead, you find yourself helping John with an small-time thief who's either pulling a great heist or trying to kill himself.  He frowns at the sight of you and insists he can handle it. You were never the greatest listener.

 

Getting shot isn't what you had in mind when you started the evening but here you are at Shaw's apartment, getting fixed up and glared at.

 

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" She presses a little too hard on your bandaged hipbone and you yelp. "I told you to come back here and sleep, not go get yourself ambushed by amateur thieves with John. I gave you the stupid key."

 

You ask how John is and receives a sharper glare. You find out he didn't even get shot, days later.

 

Somebody always wants you to stay put in one place all your life. Control wanted to torture you. Harold institutionalized and caged you. Samaritan wanted to bury you alive at one point. Shaw wants to tie you to the bed if you try to leave just once more. Somehow, you are angrier this time than all the other ones.

 

The wounds on your hip, shoulder, and thigh are no longer smarting and you're sure that you are ready to go on another mission, but the body pinning you to the floor is definitely not having any of it. The Machine doesn't have anything for you at the moment, didn't have anything for you for quite some time now. She's back to giving numbers to Harold and mending their relationship. That doesn't mean you can't follow John around again.

 

"You're not going anywhere..." If this is any other time the breathlessness of Sameen's voice may have done you in. In a while, it does and you press your legs together to fight the growing need. "until I made sure you're wounds are properly healing."

 

You have an obscene retort at the tip of your tongue but you bite it off. Instead, you look at her square in the eye and asks her to stop toying with your feelings because unlike her you still have some. It's a low blow and both of you know it. You just want to leave before you begin to think that this is finally someday only to be kissed as a means to an end when push comes to shove. Indignation turns to panic as you realize you've spoken out loud.

 

As a response, Sameen pushes on your shoulders more firmly. You groan as pain shoots up and down your arm.

 

"That's what you were groveling for months about? That stupid kiss?" There's a coldness in Shaw's eyes that almost burns you. "Of all the kisses we've shared? You've fixated on one?"

 

You shrug your good shoulder and she scoffs at that looking off the side as if considering something. A deep sigh escapes her previously pursed lips. "Root, what I said about that kiss? I won't take it back." You start squirming again at that but she presses on to you more. "At that moment, it was either kiss you or punch you. I really really wanted you to get out alive and if I were to die I would want you to remember the taste of my lips and not of my fist."

 

Sameen releases you and gets up. You close your eyes as cold air penetrates your lungs all at once. It wakes up your insides before burning it up again leaving you warm. You were never the one to need words, but that one explanation was like ample rain on your now fertile black soil.

 

"Are you gonna cry on my floor all day?"

 

Your hand flies to your face and encounters wetness. You look up at Sameen and pat the space beside you. She rolls her eyes, but instead of lying beside you she lays herself half on top of you. Bracing herself on elbows by the side of your head, she kisses you. It was barely a peck, but it has you sighing into her mouth. "Aren't you going to ask me about that kiss?"

 

You chuckle at that, and asks.

 

"It means that you are an ugly crier and you should just stop."

 

She kisses you again and again and tells you what they all mean because she might not know much about feelings but she knows kisses very well. You feel a garden grow within you, made up of kisses and all the feelings you have for Sameen.

 

The Machine chirps in your ear, a location and a time. You stiffen. Judging by the look on Shaw's face when she looks down at you, she knows. You ask Her if Shaw can come. As an answer, Shaw's printer prints out two itineraries to Peru. You thank the machine and get up, dislodging Sameen in the process.

 

Before you can get to the door, Shaw catches your arm and pulls down to turn you around. Of all the kisses she has given you, this one catches you off guard the most. It's a slight brush of soft lips to your cheekbones.

 

"That means... when this Peru thing is over we will come back here and I expect you to fuck my brains out." It's said gruffly and you can't help but press your lips together in a smile. She's the same person you’ve just misunderstood; crass, angry, and hungry for you all along.

 

"Of course, Sameen."

  
  



End file.
